


The Hounds of the Hunt

by anchasta



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: England (Country), Other, Regency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anchasta/pseuds/anchasta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a tale that is based on a Vampire The Masquerade game that was never played. My fascination with the character of Catelyn never faded and so I present her stories. This is a WIP.</p><p>It is a rough historical fantasy, and so bear with me on some of the slippery timelines. I'm open to considerate critique and comments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hounds of the Hunt

This is to be the record, yes? 

Well, then. I am the Honourable Catelyn Chatham Heatherby. I was born, and died, in Yorkshire. I am the only daughter of Baron William Mason Chatham, and while it was hundreds of years ago, I still can recall the things that made me who I am. Not everyone who lives so long retains the seeds of memory as I do. For this, I suppose I should be grateful.

When I sit in repose, rest deeply and recall my early life, the first memory that floats to the surface is the dreaded pianoforte. Mother made me practice tedious chords and simpering songs for at least an hour each day, generally during the most lovely part of the afternoon. The parlor where the instrument perched was a tease to me, being the brightest room in the house. The windows were wide and surrounded by frills and fripperies, truly the touch of Mother’s hand. The ridiculously lavish decor was bathed in sunbeams - a remarkable prison! Nestled among the vases of fresh flowers, I frowned, fidgeted, and yet did my duty and played. I was for the most part an obedient child, but I ensured that my subtle protests sang loudly through the house. Dissonant notes and mistakes would ring out with more confidence and volume than the boring, beautiful measures. I never was much for the Terpsichorean arts, much to the chagrin of the entire household.

Being the only daughter of a Baron, I am lucky that I managed to gain any education on any interesting subjects at all! If the matter remained in Mother’s hands, I’d have learned nothing outside of the skills required to maintain the home, staff it efficiently, and host guests with impeccable manners and hospitality. Her sights were set on grooming me to be the perfect wife and to earn the honorific of Honourable that I was born to bear.

While these skills were indeed necessary and made up a portion of my course of study, I found the study of languages a more interesting subject. English is my mother tongue, and there were of course studies in Latin. Next was French, then Italian, and then a bit of German, as well. Every new language that I learned offered me new reading material from my Father’s library - a fine reward as far I was concerned! Walking through the library with its walls of books and dark wood felt like walking into very essence of my Father. Dark wood, a large hearth with a wooden desk before it, and grand chairs that were like thrones always appealed to me. The library was one of the most important things to me, and it rather kept me sane. I would leap upon books and devour them like a hound after a bloody bit of meat, worrying at it until the meaning of the words buried within were puzzled out and I could report on the plot to my Father.

Father was, as I said, properly titled Baron William Mason Chatham. My mother was Lady Phillipa Chatham. While my family was not as affectionate as some others I’ve witnessed, I was certain of his love just as I was of Mother’s disapproval. In those days, young children did not speak to the adults unless first spoken to, and with my elder brother so far away in study, it was a lonely place to live. Each winter, it was worse when Father had to leave us and travel to attend to his duties at the House of Lords in London. I longed to go with him, but such travel and such cities were not deemed a proper place for a young girl - on that, both Father and Mother agreed.

When he was at home and not at the beck and call of the Throne, Father would spend his days reading, writing, and riding our land to meet with the farmers and the small villages in our care. He was so grand and tall on horseback, with his best foxhounds at his heels. Oh, those grand hounds ever fascinated me. Our dogs were magnificent, and every year, pups from Avenell Manor would fetch the highest prices at the seasonal fairs. The dogs were bright-eyed, loyal, and so very intelligent. Being a child myself, I adored most of all the wiggling pile of leggy, lapping puppies. I would often sneak away to play among them, giggling while being licked and jumped upon by clumsy, clawed feet and my skirts nibbled and muddied, much to Father’s amusement and Mother’s chagrin. She would send people after me only to find me in the kennels and ruining my clothes _again._ The incessant fussing over my wardrobe and unladylike manners was the bane of my early days, but it would stop when Father was home. In deference to his demands for a moment of peace, Mother’s nagging would change to a sullen silence. When Father was home, we would all be a bit more happy.


End file.
